


Songstress

by ilovecharles



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fluff, Gen, Mini, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19116034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovecharles/pseuds/ilovecharles
Summary: A mini-fic prompt from @captain-radioactive-mentality on tumblr.





	Songstress

The bullets flew past you in quick succession, landing merely inches away from your person and planting themselves in the bodies of the trees you were tucked between. The large rock in front hid you from the marshals that clamoured from their horses and darted magazines your way. Your studded revolver, Caroline, did the talking for you as you peered out from your cover and aimed at your enemies; each bullet lodging precisely between their eyes. By now, only a few were left standing – many rest dead upon the trodden grass of Cumberland Forest that lay painted with the blood of American soldiers. 

Your eyes drifted to the man beside you as he ducked agitated against the large rock. “You alright there?” You questioned loudly through the blaring of gun smoke. He nodded weakly in response as you continued shooting at your foes; Monroe refused to use his weapon against his fellow soldiers, so you took it upon yourself to be his gun for the fight. The last man fell to the ground with a shriek and a thud as Charles launched a knife square into his chest. Groans and blood-curdling chokes sounded from the fallen bodies; small spatters of blood decorated the cotton of your clothes and a slight scratch adorned your left cheek – nothing major, thankfully. 

Arthur and yourself lifted Captain Monroe to his feet, they shook slightly in rage at the betrayal of Favours. “What’re we ‘gonna do ‘bout the medicines, Monroe?” Arthur questioned through gritted teeth whilst holstering his gun in the leather brace at his hip. Monroe sighed in response, his eyes wading solemnly at the dead men before him. 

Charles walked towards a body of soldiers to his feet, collecting his throwing knife from the men’s breastplate. “I’ll go with Arthur for the medi-” Charles was cut off by the deafening burst of a pistols barrel, the bullet wedged itself above the heel of Charles’ leg and he fell to the ground in protest, an angered curse escaping his mouth at the pain. Your heart sank at the sight and you lifted Caroline to serve justice to the soldier that lay on deaths door behind Charles; sealing his impending fate with another bullet to his broken body.

Arthur and Monroe ran towards the injured man. You sank to your knees before him and raised your palms to bring pressure to the wound. Charles seethed out a ‘thank you’ through his gritted teeth, and in response you felt a slight surge of butterflies and a sudden blush to your cheeks – you mentally cursed yourself at the poor timing of your reaction; this man was in pain, don’t be such a child!

“We better get him somewhere.” Arthur states, placing an arm around Charles shoulder, signalling for Monroe to do the same. You whistled for the horses whom had fled after the blare of gunfire, they galloped back from the trees and came to a halt in the dirt before you, whinnying in slight distress at the aftermath and the bodies around.

_________

“You sure you’ll be alright here?” Arthur questioned whilst perching his foot into the stirrup of his sandy Ardennes and lifting himself to mount. He extended his arm out to captain Monroe, who accepted and sat behind the cowboy, placing an arm around his midriff for security. 

“Don’t you worry yourself ‘bout us, Morgan. You just worry about Favours and Wapiti.” Your eyes drifted behind you to the small, abandoned cabin where Charles lay upon the rusted bed. “I’ll get us back t’ Dutch when he’s had some rest.” Arthur nodded and lifted the reigns up to his torso; you slapped his mares behind and it responded by darting off into the moonlit forest. “Now off with you!” You shouted out to them. A satisfying silence fell around you in their absence and eyes followed the rays of the moon as they shone down onto the cabin: painting streaks against the cold wooden floor inside.

“You best not bleed out on me there, Smith.” You teased, clicking the frail wooden door of the homestead shut behind you before perching yourself upon the flimsy chair beside were Charles lay. A low chuckle slipped past his tired demeanour and he let out a slight groan in result of the movement before shifting the wounded leg to rest upon a pillow. 

“Stay still.” You cooed, lifting a pair of rusted pliers you’d found left behind to the fresh bullet hole. Your other hand brought the alcohol-soaked rag to clean away any possible infections. He winced as the cold metal dug through his exposed skin; you had tried to be gentle but the little bastard was wedged in there pretty good. Pulling it out in a rough tug, and wrapping the damp rag securely around his shin, you threw the pliers to the ground and met his hand with your own upon the edge of the bed. Your thumb grazed gently against his to comfort him through the pain – his lids became heavy from exhaustion but the agony kept bringing him back to consciousness. 

You fought back the sinking behind your ribs at the sight of the vulnerable man before you; you wanted to take his injury away and take him back to safety, wrap him in cotton and protect him from the ugliness of the world. Much like Charles; words weren’t your strong suit, but if they were, you’d lull him into your arms and promise him a future away from the gunslinger’s life – a life that love rarely ever stood a chance in. 

“T-thank you, ____.”

“Shh’….” You whispered “…try and sleep, big man.” The singular candle upon the beside dimly lit the room. You found it comforting, and hoped he did too. 

You had to do something; distract him from the pain, help him sleep. Your mind flickered to your mother, she would sing you to sleep through thunderstorms or after nightmares. Her angelic voice would melt like honey around you and lull you back to your sweet dreams where you felt safe and secure. Some nights at camp when you’re struggling to find comfort upon your cold bedroll, you’d imagine she was singing to you again, fishing wisps of hair from out of your eyes and drawing spirals upon your palms. You wondered if Charles’ mother had ever done the same, if he’d ever felt comfort from his mother like you had – either way, you wanted him to feel safe, too. 

The air became cold around you. “When I was a child, I burnt the skin on my arm – nasty campfire accident with my siblings, we had no idea what we were doing…” You smiled at the memory and Charles returned it. “My mother sang me to sleep that night because the skin stung so bad. I…I could…if it’ll help.” 

You hesitantly opened your mouth and let out a sigh before your nerves got the better of you. Charles gaze met yours warmly as if reassuring you to let it out. His silent encouragement worked wonders and you felt the courage to sing to him. You continued to run your thumb smoothly against his own.

“Are you going to Scarborough fair? 

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, 

Remember me to one who lives there, 

He once was a true love of mine.”

Charles watched contently as you sang to him, and the pain became an afterthought. His attention and adoration now fully dedicated to your sweet song. He brought his free hand up to your face, brushing away any escaped strands and tucking them delicately back behind your ears. He thought about describing you as an angel, but that still wouldn’t justify how he felt in that moment. The lyrics hung above is head like white clouds on a fair day and he felt like catching them in his hands so they wouldn’t float away. He couldn’t be abandoned again. He would keep this symphony forever, and hopefully you as well. 

“Tell him to find me an acre of land. 

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, 

Between the salt water and the sea strand, 

Then he’ll be a true love of mine.”

You wouldn’t sing for anyone else, not ever. This melody was for him, and he accepted it with a warm smile and slowly drifting eyes. If there was ever a time for him to confess his pining, it was now, but sleep drew closer and cut his words short, so he’d have to make do for now. “Lay with me.” He murmured half-asleep, you complied heartily by resting in the space at his side on the hard mattress, he moved his head to press against yours. Your fingers crept to his hand between you and drew small patterns against his cool skin as sleep took him. 

Even when you’d finished singing, your sweet voice rung throughout his dreams like whispers from above.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr @i-love-charles!


End file.
